Wholock
by TotalFanGirl221B
Summary: I just decided to make this, enjoy :) please leave a review


Sherlock and John had once again solved another case. This one was quite complicated, well so Sherlock thought, and took Sherlock longer than usual, but he eventually figured it out. The clues were all there, the answer was basically written in front of them, but Sherlock didn't quite understand it all straight away. This puzzled John as he knew Sherlock's mind was magnificent and amazing, and that he was intelligent, and the fact that something so simple could puzzle even him. John didn't understand the case either, but that was normal, he understood bits here and there, but he had to wait for Sherlock to figure it out and then explain it to him for him to understand it all properly.

In the taxi home, John looked over at Sherlock who had his eyes tightly shut and his head leaning on the window. John didn't understand; was he ill? What was wrong with him? Maybe he was just frustrated that he hadn't solved the case straight away like he normally would have done. He has been acting quite odd recently though; he's been getting a few head aches, not getting as excited as he normally would about a new case and things like that. Now there was this. What was going on? John wanted to ask him, he knew it wasn't really any of his business, but he wanted to know if Sherlock was alright. "Is everything... ok, Sherlock?" He said it was more of a whisper than his normal voice. Sherlock didn't reply. He sat, squeezing his eyes shut tighter and tighter. His jaw clenched and John knew he was in some form of pain, even if he wouldn't admit it himself. "Sherlock, I asked if you were alright." Sherlock didn't reply straight away, it took a few minutes for him to process what John had just said. He shook his head slowly, opened his eyes and unclenched his jaw gently.

"Yes, of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" He said, acting as though nothing had just happened and everything was normal.

"What was that then?"

"What was what?" Sherlock pretended to have no clue what John was talking about, but he knew exactly what he was talking about. "Oh, that? I was just resting... resting my eyes." He started to struggle to get words out of his mouth properly. His speech was quite slurred, but not very much for John to start to notice, so Sherlock tried to quickly make him stop talking "John, please don't feel the need to talk to me right now. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't." He knew he was being rude, and he didn't care. He didn't want John to know what was happening. John was quite offended, so he didn't want to talk to Sherlock anyway.

The rest of the ride home was in silence. John and Sherlock didn't say one word to each other. When they finally arrived home, they walked straight in. John walked in first, Sherlock was feeling weak. He wouldn't tell John, he just walked behind him so he wouldn't be able to see. John ran up the stairs skipping a step every time. Sherlock walked slowly to the staircase. By the time he had stepped onto the third step John had already gone into the apartment. Sherlock started to feel quite dizzy. He fell against the wall and quickly grabbed a hold of the railing so he didn't fall down the stairs. He stayed, leaning against the wall, for a few minutes. He just kept taking deep breaths, in and out. "Sherlock?" John shouted from the kitchen. Sherlock didn't reply. He waited a few seconds, calmed himself down, and started to walk normally up the stairs. He then walked in, took off his coat and scarf and then sat himself down in his armchair.

John walked in. Sherlock sat there with both of his hands clasped together in front of his face. His eyes were closed and he was in deep thought. "What was that?" Sherlock brought his head up and opened his eyes. He looked at John confused.

"What was what?"

"You know what I'm talking about; the fact that you didn't solve that case straight away even though you knew you could have. The thing you did in the taxi home, were you in pain? And, why did it take you so long to come in?" Sherlock looked straight at John and John did the same to him. There was silence. Sherlock looked down to the floor and sighed. He then brought his head back up and looked at John.

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I said I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"I don't know what's happening to me. You're right; there is something wrong with me. Something prevented me from solving the case as fast as I usually would. Something caused me pain in the cab back. Something made me feel dizzy on the way up here. But I don't know what that 'something' is."

"So what are you saying? Are you saying you're ill? You have some disease? Or that somebody's drugged you? What is it?"

"I have told you everything I know. I don't remember being drugged; I don't know how I would've been drugged. But I also don't understand how I have got ill. Well, I know I can become ill, but it can't just happen like that. Something must have caused it. But what?"

"You're probably fine, let's just see how you go?" John suggests.

"You're right. We'll give it a few days and if it hasn't gone by then, then we'll ask him."

"Really? Why do we have to get him involved? I'm a perfectly capable doctor you know?" John said, a little angry at the fact Sherlock never thought of John as a doctor.

"Yes, I do know that. But, he knows more about these things."

"How do you know this is one of those things?"

"John, it has to be. I haven't been drugged, I would know by now if I had, and it's not an illness. At least not an illness on this world" John just nods his head, he knows there is no point in arguing with Sherlock because Sherlock is stubborn and will always try and get his own way.

"Right, fine. Anyway, there's a new case on the website for you. Someone called 'George Binks'."

"George Binks? I'm sure I've heard that name before."

"You probably have" John says, picking up the TV remote and turning the TV on "seeing as he's all over the news."

"Ah yes! But why?"

"He's come up with this new anti-ageing thing. I don't really know the details."

"Right, so why does he need me? What's his case?"

"You do know it's on the website, you could always look yourself."

"You've already checked it out, so you can just tell me." Sherlock said, lazily.

"Someone has stolen all of his plans and the data for the anti-ageing scheme."

"Well it's probably someone who wants to either prevent him from making it, or someone who wants to make it and take the money for it. Has he mentioned anything else?"

"No, not really. He just wants you to meet him at his office, tomorrow at 12pm."

"Does he? Well, maybe I'm too busy."

"'Too busy?" John said, turning the TV off and looking at Sherlock angrily "you haven't got anything! Not a single case."

"Fine, I'll take it. Tell him we'll be there."

"Sherlock you could do this all yourself you know?"

"Yes, but I have you to do it for me, so there's no point in me doing something you can." John sighed and then went onto the laptop to message George.

Sherlock lay on the sofa while John had gone to get some shopping in. He lay there, just thinking. He could hear little whispers in his head. They weren't loud whispers; they were exceptionally quiet whispers, so he couldn't make out what they were saying. They sounded like snakes hissing in the back of his head. He shut his eyes tightly trying to concentrate so he could maybe make out bits of it. It was no use. Then he started to get another headache. He sat up, took a deep breath, and then went to go and get some aspirin and a drink. He stood at the counter for a few minutes; he rested his hands on the edge of it, making sure he didn't collapse, and took deep breaths in and out. The aspirin wasn't helping at all.

John came back in to an empty room. Where was Sherlock? What was he doing? He put the shopping bags onto the table in the kitchen and then went in to Sherlock's room. He found Sherlock asleep in his bed. This came to him as very odd. Sherlock never slept voluntarily. What was going on? John knew that there was something wrong with Sherlock, but what? What could be this bad? He didn't wake Sherlock; he just walked out and put the shopping away. Two hours later, Sherlock woke up. He felt incredibly dizzy and sick. He tried to get out of bed, but he was very weak and couldn't hold himself up, so he fell over. John quickly ran into his room after hearing Sherlock fall. "Sherlock? What's wrong?" He asked, panicking. Sherlock didn't reply straight away. He tried to lift himself off the floor, but it was no use. John saw he was struggling and lifted him onto his bed. He sat there, in silence.

"There are voices, John."

"What?" John asked puzzled. He had no idea what Sherlock was talking about.

"In my head. Little whispers. Tiny, in fact." Sherlock looked down at the floor and sighed "I don't know what's happening any more, John."

"Relax, you'll be fine. Just get some more rest and you'll be alright in the morning." John said reassuringly, trying to calm both Sherlock and himself down.

"You're... you're right..." Sherlock said, yawning. He then twisted himself back onto the bed and fell asleep nearly straight away. John walked out. He was quite worried about Sherlock at this point. But he knew he couldn't show it.

The next day came. Sherlock seemed a lot better. He no longer heard the voices and seemed to be back to his normal self; not really eating, annoying people, and was ready to go to his case. "So, are you feeling alright today?"

"Yes, back to normal it seems." Sherlock said, almost happily. He tried to act as if he didn't care, but he was happy.

"Good, good." John nodded and smiled.

At 12, both John and Sherlock arrived at Mr Binks' office. It was quite big, nice and flashy. They both shook Mr Binks' hand and he offered them both a seat. He then sat in his big chair behind the desk. "So, Mr Binks-"

"Please, just call me George." John smiled, but Sherlock couldn't care about the name at this point. He didn't care if his client was polite or not, he just cared about the case and whether it would be interesting or just an average.

"George," Sherlock continued "What can you tell us about the plans?"

"Well, they were on my desk," George started "Obviously they were print outs, I had a copy on my laptop as well, but they seem to have gone too. I locked my door on the way out, like normal. No one ever comes in here unless I'm here."

"Who knew where the plans were and would be?" John asked.

"Nobody, absolutely nobody."

"I'm... I'm..." Sherlock struggled to speak. He couldn't get the right words out. He shook his head, but nothing worked.

"Sherlock, why don't you go and get a breath of fresh air?" John suggested, seeing Sherlock was struggling.

"Good... good idea. Would you excuse me for just a minute?" Sherlock asked, leaving his seat.

"Of course, if you need a drink of water or something there's a fountain just outside."

"Oh, thank you." Sherlock said, leaving the room. He then went outside. He brought his head right up and inhaled slowly and deeply, sucking in all the air he could. He then leaned against the wall and slowly sank to the floor. He started to hear the voices again. This time they were louder, but still not at all clear. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and placed his hands over his ears. He was in so much pain. His breathing got faster and faster and faster. He tried to calm down, but he just couldn't. Someone then suddenly approached him, to ask if he was alright. He heard them, but he couldn't answer. The voices were drowning out his thoughts and the words he needed. The woman then kneeled down and placed her hand on him, but he shrugged it off quickly. "Please... please leave me..." Sherlock pleaded, thinking it was something dangerous.

"What's wrong with you?" She asked, soothingly.

"My... my head's burning." He screamed in pain. The woman didn't know what to do, so she quickly ran into the building and asked for help. Both John and George heard her shout, so they went to see what was going on. She told them about the man sat outside. John knew it was Sherlock. He and George ran out to get him. He was leaning against the wall, his eyes shut, whispering things to himself. John and George looked to each other and they both lifted him up. "What... what's going on?"

"Sherlock, it's George and John. What's wrong?" George asked while taking him back into the office and sitting him down. Sherlock didn't reply. He just sat on the chair screaming in pain. He wrapped his arms around his head. "Maybe you should take him to hospital or something?" George suggested, turning to face John. John nodded.

"Maybe... I'll take him home first."

"I'll give you a lift if you like?" George said, politely.

"Oh, thanks." They then helped Sherlock walk out of the building and helped get him into the car. By this time he had stopped screaming, he just sat in silence. His eyes still closed. He was concentrating on the voices. The whispers. John didn't know what he was going to do. He knew he was going to have to call him. The Doctor.

They went into the apartment and John lay Sherlock down in his bed and Sherlock slowly fell asleep. John went back into the living room and got his phone from his pocket. He then dialled the number. "Hello, Doctor?" He asked, whispering so he didn't wake Sherlock up "It's John Watson".


End file.
